


Change

by crimsoncrowley



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Depression, F/M, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Post-Reichenbach, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-17
Updated: 2014-03-17
Packaged: 2018-01-16 02:10:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1328002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsoncrowley/pseuds/crimsoncrowley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Reichenbach: Your boyfriend, Sherlock Holmes, jumped to his death and left you alone. While desperately trying to get over him, his brother decides to help you. The one thing neither of you know: Sherlock's still out there. (God, I suck a summaries.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Empty Flat

How were you ever going to go on without him? That was a question you were desperately trying to find an answer to, but no matter how hard you tried, you always ended up with the same thought in your head: 'How could you do this to me?'  
  
It had been two months since your (now ex) boyfriend had jumped to his death, but to you it felt like it was just yesterday. How could you possibly believe he'd been gone for so long already, when you could still hear his voice wherever you went or when your sheets still smelled like him, even though you already washed them at least a dozen times?  
  
You knew it was partly your fault that you didn't get any rest. You know you should move out of the flat you two had shared with his best friend; your cousin. He did the right thing: he had moved out within a week after his friend's death, while you refused to leave. Of course you knew it would be better for you, but you simply couldn't get yourself to do it. Every time you tried to move, you felt like you were betraying him and telling yourself that he would not want you to suffer through this any longer didn't help either. Mostly because you were fairly certain that he   were he still be alive   would be throwing a fit at you for wanting to move out of the flat   your 'one and only home' as he once put it.  
  
A sigh escaped your pale lips as you got home from work and you gaze automatically fell to his chair. His empty chair. The thought of redecorating the place had crossed your mind more than once but whenever you touched his stuff you teared up and found you couldn't place it anywhere and you certainly could not get rid of it completely. You knew you needed help but at the same time you wanted to deal with this in your own way.  
  
A few weeks later, nearly three months after Death took your boyfriend, you broke down. You got by with only some water, a bowl of salad for lunch and a bun for dinner. Because of that you had lost some weight, but not enough to make you look unhealthy. It wasn't like you wanted to get thinner, you just hadn't been able to eat properly for a week now, even if you wanted to. On top of that insomnia seemed to be your best friend as of late and if you did actually manage to rest for an hour or two, you were plagued by nightmares. Getting out of bed jut got harder and harder every morning.  
  
And then, after yet another week, you finally decided to get help.


	2. Unexpected Visitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Have some Mycroft

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a short chapter, but things are going to happen soon.

Your phone woke you with the usual melody; or at least it wanted to, but you were already up and making making coffee by then. With a huff, you let the coffee machine do its work and went to turn off your alarm. For a split second you cursed yourself for not deactivating it when you'd gotten up but threw that thought aside as soon as you noticed you had gotten a text. You frowned, wondering why you didn't hear your text alert noise, 'cause as far as you remembered you didn't set it on silence or vibrate, so? oh. The text message had arrived at the same time your alarm went off.  
  
At first you found it to be a little strange that it had arrived at exactly 8 o'clock but a look at the sender explained everything. Of course Mycroft knew to what time you'd set your alarm and would send his text at that exact moment, to make sure you'd read it right away. Damn the Holmes Brothers and their knowledge of everything. Well... at least the one that still happened to be alive. Sighing, you shook your head, this really wasn't a good time to think about Sherlock, and opened the text message.  
  
 _Be a dear and open the door, please. - MH_  
  
You were fighting the urge to just let him soak in the rain and waited a few seconds, before you actually went to do as he asked. Why couldn't he just use the door bell like a normal person? You frowned at that thought. Mycroft and normal in one sentence... that sounded so surreal you had to shake your head to get it out of your head.  
  
"What do you want?" you asked a little too aggressive as you opened the door, which, for a brief moment, you wanted to slam shut right in his face, but decided against it. Who knows what kind of revenge he'd plan for that. Instead, you not to patiently waited for his answer and shot him a death glare, when he simply replied with "In a bad mood today, are we?" before walking past you and up to the flat.  
  
You rolled your eyes, closed the door and followed him upstairs, where he had already taken it upon himself to finish two cups of coffee. At least he was being useful for once.  
  
Mycroft turned around and handed you your well needed morning coffee while simultaneously starting to read you. He could easily see you hadn't slept for three days now and that you had lost about 5kilo since the last time he saw you nine days ago. All things he had expected to see but there was something else, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. You were definitely trying to hide something from him and it certainly wasn't how tired and exhausted you were or how you were still grieving his brother because you couldn't let go. No, this was something he was unable to see at first glance, hidden where no one would see it unless you wanted them to.  
  
He eyed you suspiciously while you sat down on John's old chair and warmed your hands on the mug in your hands. It frustrated him not to know what he was missing. He never had problems reading you before, so why now? What could possibly be going on with you that you tried so hard to keep him in the dark? What wouldn't you want anyone to find out? He briefly considered calling John but you hadn't spoken to your cousin for about two weeks now, so it was unlikely he knew anything. Even if he did, Mycroft highly doubted he would be willing to just talk about it to him. That only left him with one option: he had to figure this out himself.  
  
"So," you said after you couldn't bear the silence any longer, "to what do I owe the pleasure? You didn't show up because you wanted a cup of coffee."  
  
He smirked slightly at your comment and proceeded to sit down in what used to be his younger brother's chair. A gesture you didn't approve of, going by the hurt look on your face and the fact that you seemed to have troubles looking at him ever since he's sat down. Mycroft sighed. He knew you were in a bad state, but he had no idea it was this bad.  
  
Not wanting to cause you more pain than absolutely necessary, he got up and went to sit down on the nearby sofa, signalling you to do the same. If he wanted to do this he would need you to cooperate with him and that wasn't possible as long as you couldn't even bare to look at him directly. Also, he hoped he'd be able to figure out what he was missing, as he was sure it was something remotely serious. Maybe you were secretly plotting to kill your therapist. Highly unlikely but still possible; some humans were unpredictable after all and you currently seemed to be one of them.


	3. Crossed the Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Intense stuff is about to happen.

The sofa wasn't as comfortable as the chair you'd been sitting on just moments ago, but this way you wouldn't have to look at Mycroft while he was sitting in  **his**  chair. Knowing that he was currently trying to read you just as your boyfriend had done it so many times was enough to make you feel uncomfortable, so you were glad he had decided to move off the black leather chair and onto the couch.   
  
As Mycroft's blue eyes wandered over your slightly trembling form, he noted how you were letting your head hang down, keeping your gaze on your knees, while fiddling with your shirt's sleeves. A shirt that - going by the fact that is seemed to be two numbers to big for you - once belonged to Sherlock. The older Holmes briefly wondered how often you walked around wearing his brother's clothes before deciding that he had to get you out of here. He would never admit it, but he cared about you; perhaps even more than he should.  
  
"Mycroft," you whispered softly, making him snap out of his thoughts. You were still looking down at your knees and from the way your voice sounded, he figured that you were on the edge of crying. Oh dear God. A crying woman was the last thing he needed right now; he couldn't handle so many emotions. Not to mention that he had no idea how he was supposed to comfort you if you were actually going to let the tears flow. This was exactly why he hated caring; it was exhausting and one was always worrying over how he might mess it up if he didn't choose his words carefully.  
  
"Ah-- I'm sorry, dear. I should probably get to the point." That was indeed what you wanted him to do and you were hoping that he'd hurry up with telling you whatever the Hell it was he needed to tell you this early in the morning. All you needed right now was some rest. Seeing Mycroft in Sherlock's chair was more than you could handle at the moment and you silently cursed the Holmes brothers for being so damn alike.  
  
The man next to you sighed. "I'm quite sure you won't like what I'm about to say, but please do me a favour and at least think about it before turning down my offer."   
  
You blinked at looked up at him for the first time since he had dared to sit on your ex-boyfriend's chair. His gaze was surprisingly soft and not nearly as serious as you'd imagined it would be at this point. Any other person would have felt saver upon seeing such a look on someone's face but to you it had the opposite effect: it caused you to be even more nervous, resulting in you playing with a pen in a half-hearted attempt at calming yourself down. Calming down... if this conversation was going where you thought it was, you really needed to pull yourself together.  
  
Since you didn't respond, Mycroft figured it would be the best for both of you if he just started talking.  
  
"Listen, (y/n)... I know the loss of my brother was very painful for you and you're not quite over him, but you need to move on. Before you say anything: I know you're trying and went to seek professional help, but you have to admit you won't be able to let go as long as you keep living in this flat and I'm sure your therapist told you that already."  
  
There was a moment of silence before you opened your mouth to say something.   
  
"It's nice to know you care, but I just can't-- "A slender hand on your shoulder stopped your from finishing your sentence and you needed a few seconds to let your mind get used to the fact that Mycroft Holmes was in physical contact with you. There really is a first time for everything.  
  
"It hurts. I understand that, but-- " This time it was you who interrupted him by saying "Excuse me?" a littler louder than originally intended while slapping his hand away. He wasn't expecting you to raise your voice, so he was a little taken aback and needed a moment to compose himself. Unfortunately for him, you didn't give him that moment, but continued to yell at him.  
  
"What do you know of pain? How can you say you 'understand' when his death didn't even affect you!? Even Anderson was visibly upset and shaken at Sherlock's funeral, but not you. Not the great Mycroft Holmes who deems himself above all this. How could you just stand there, looking like it didn't have anything to do with you? How!? He was your brother for fuck's sake! I never thought you could be this heartless! Do you even know how much he--" your voice broke and it was in that moment that you noticed the tears streaming down your face. When had you begun to cry?  
  
Mycroft got up from the sofa, bringing your attention back to him. His back was turned to you, so you were unable to see his face but you didn't need to. You realised you had crossed the line the second he stood up.  
  
"You're right, he was my brother. So do you really think I didn't care about him? Do you really think I'm okay with his death?" He paused and you deeply regretted having said all that. Of course you were aware that Sherlock's death must have hurt him in some way. Of course you knew he had his own way of dealing with the loss of a loved one. And while you sometimes felt like it didn't seem to affect him at all, you never meant to tell him that, because you knew you were wrong and now you just felt miserable.  
  
"Just because I don't openly show my pain to others does not mean I'm not grieving." With those words he turned back to look at you and you tried your best to hold his gaze. Even though he didn't want to show you how broken he actually was, it was written all over his face and seeing him like that was like getting stabbed right into the heart.  
  
It was the first time you'd ever seen Mycroft like that and you had to admit: it scared you. He always seemed so strong and able to keep himself away from caring about others and the pain it brought along.   
  
And now?   
  
Now you realised how wrong you'd been all this time. How stupid it was to think he really couldn't feel anything and how much you had actually hurt him with your words. This was exactly the reason why you hated talking about emotional stuff ? you always ended up babbling on without thinking, causing pain to others without realising it before it was already too late.  
  
You wanted to apologise, but when you opened your mouth to say something Mycroft was already out the door and didn't stop when you called his name. He just left and slammed the door shut behind him before walking down the stairs and out onto the pavement.

**Author's Note:**

> I started this little project while being stuck in a hospital and I thought I'd post it on here, too.  
> I'm not 100% sure where this is going yet, but oh well.~


End file.
